No place I'd rather be
by Ayno23
Summary: One-Shot. Sherlock and John are on a case after Sherlock returned from his absence. Drabbleish fluff and kitsch. Johnlock.


**A/N:** Hey there. I was suddenly inspired and had to write this One-Shot. I hope you like it, if so, let me know. If not, let me know as well.

Dedication: This is dedicated to different people. First of all, AnorexicWalrus. Because she is awesome and feels like me about a lot of stuff. And was the first to 'talk' to me here and yeah.. Thank you. :)  
Second, Howdidwesurvive. Because she inspired me to storyboard... .. whiiich I wasn't able to do.. again.. ;) I'll leave that to you. ;D  
And last but not least, SuperWhoLockness. For having an excellent taste in(?) music. Maybe you'll recognise one or two lines. :D

Well, it's not beta'd and I hate reading my own stuff, so if there are weird words (I write on my mobile, and I'm from germany with german autocorrect), let me know, please. Thanks. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock and John, nor any songs you might find in here and I have never been to Castletown. Everything's made up. I just needed a nothern city in Scotland. I hope I'm not insulting anyone, I'm sure it's a lovely city?.. village?

* * *

Finally, after hours of sitting in a train and more hours in a bus, they arrived. Tired and exhausted. John definitely knew he was and he suspected Sherlock to be as well but the detective kept up apperance and only let his usual bored face show.

They made their way to the Hotel on foot because it wasn't far from the station and it was nice to finally be able to use ones muscles again. Night was dawning and the streetlights suddenly went on.

While John was carrying the bags, he shortly shivered. The north of Scotland sure was cold. And windy. But no wonder, as close to the sea as they were. The doctor looked up to his friend who strolled from one sie of the street to the other, looking here, observing there. At least that was what John imagined with a smile.

Both arrived after a short walk at the hotel. The only one for miles around as John remembered. They had taken the first train this morning to get to Casteltown, Scotland. A client had woken Sherlocks interest with a story of a haunted castle and people disappering there. John didn't fully understand the detective's enthusiasm about it at all - for him it seemed to be a made up story of someone looking for attention. But who was he to question the genius he lived with? So, as always, he had followed his mate. On the way John had asked if the genius had taken care of somewhere to stay for the night. Well, obviously he had not. So it was John's duty again to find a hotel while beeing in the train and only having the crappy mobile Internet to google for a hotel. And since every phone connection broke after a few seconds, John decided to take the risk and hadn't bothered further to make a reservation for them.

Now they stood in front of a run-down building with dusty windows and a door which would fit in the 1940's.  
John sighed audibly and Sherlock looked over to him for a second. He himself was still thrilled for the case. He liked castles and everything about them, so he hadn't hestitated to take the case in the first place. Moreover it was always nice to leave London every once in a while. But now, looking at his friend's displeased face, doubts emerged in his mind. Had he made a mistake? Should he have asked John first? A sigh escaped Sherlock's lips as well.  
John rose an eyebrow looking over to his friend who stared at him, in thoughts obviously, because he didn't notice Johns look.  
"Sherlock? You okay? It won't be this bad. The critics in the Internet were quite alright," John tried to assure his friend, mistaking Sherlocks sigh and staring for concern about their residence. The addressed jumped out of his thoughts and gazed at his counterpart.  
"What? Yeah... sure," he replied, still a little moony.  
John smiled and nodded shortly before he entered the hotel.

The interior of the 'hotel' was not shortened compared to the outside. Old, worn-out furniture and dust. Dust everywhere. John chuckled unintentionally at the thought, that Sherlock once said dust was talking to them. Well, here he's got a lot to listen to, he thought with a grin. Sherlock heard the giggling and stared at his friend, bewildered with a questioning look. As John saw it, smiled at him and shook his head.  
"Nothing, it was just a silly thought. Let's see if we are lucky enough to get a room. Hello?" His last word was called out loud to wake the receptionist he assumed to be around somewhere close by. And there he was. An old man of about 65, with white hair and a white long beard. He wore thick glasses on his nose, a model of the late 70's if John had to guess.  
"Oh, hello. I wasn't expecting anyone today. So, you need a room. One king will do I suppose," he said mumbling the last words more to himself than to his guests.  
"Sorry? No king will do. We need two rooms. We're not a couple," John stated quickly. Sherlock barely payed attention to the conversation, he already knew John's tiring outbursts. He himself couldn't care less. He was long used to people guessing and assuming this and that about him, he had given up on fighting their stupidy.  
"Oh, of course you're not. But I'm afraid that all other rooms aren't available at the moment. They are being renovated. I'm sorry."  
"Oh, well. Fine. The room's upstairs?" John's anger ebbed away slowly. And in the end it didn't matter at all. He and Sherlock were quite used to sharing a room. But sharing a bed was new. Until now they have been at least able to get two single beds. He sighed again and followed the owner or whatever the old man was upstairs.

The room was surprisingly okay. Not the best they've had but at least no dust. The bed seemed alright, there was even a small desk with a chair and a old couch on one wall. A door leaded to a seperate bathroom which also looked clean.

After the old man had vanished, they were able to relax at last. John kicked his shoes off and took his jacket off. Sherlock did the same with a little more grace. John observed it with awe, although he had seen it at least a hundred times, he never grew old of watching the tall mans movements. It looked like an elegant dance, danced by an angel. Sherlocks last movement was a fall on the bed, back first. John took the chair next to the desk. He wanted to scribble down his impressions on the case for his blog.

Johns writing was the only thing to be heard for a couple of minutes, until Sherlock rose from the bed to look at Johns profile while writing. The detective sqinted his eyes as to look closer at his friend, trying to read him and predict his behaviour. He didn't seemed to be content with what he found and a small sigh escaped Sherlock's lips once more.  
"I'm going downstairs to ask for an extra duvet," Sherlock informed John while sitting up on the bed and putting is feet down to the floor. His back was now facing Johns profile.

"What? What for?" John was honestly surprised. Yes, he had declared they weren't a couple but sleeping in a bed with a friend doesn't make you one neither. And he was sure he could keep his feelings in check as he had done for so long now; he grew used to it. Sure, sometimes it was hard, especially since Sherlocks return because he had changed. He was -John barely dared to admit it- caring. At least for him. He made John tea, without asking, just always when John was about to make himself a cuppa. As if Sherlock kwas able to predict Johns needs. He also stopped doing drugs. And he also tried to quit complaining whenever he was bored. But it wasn't working too well and John was glad about it, taking the many changes of his friend, this would've scared him. And even if John was in love with his flat mate, he wouldn't say it aloud. He didn't want to scare Sherlock off because he knew that Sherlock was 'married to his job' as he himself had declared. And although Sherlock seemed to have changed after his absence and return, John kept on stating that he wasn't gay and that they weren't a couple. Well, the last thing was true at least.

"I'm going to sleep on the couch and to get a proper sleep I need a duvet. When I remeber correctly - and I'm sure I do- you always get on my back when I'm not sleeping. And I didn't want to upset you. So, I'm getting a duvet," Sherlock turned around to face John and explained in his usual bored tone, as if he stated the obvious.  
"That's really... nice of you, Sherlock.. Leaving the bed to me and so on.. But.. you don't have to. I don't mind, honestly. The bed's huge enough for both of us."

"Oh. If you think so." Sherlock was rather surprised and a funny feeling spreadin his stomach and he felt so light and happy all of a sudden. He looked at his flatmate, who was still staring at him and suddenly he saw. It wasn't only friendship in the eyes of his counterpart. There was more. Infinite more. Sherlock had to keep himself from stepping over to John to look into his eyes closer. The feeling in his stomach intensed and involuntary made him smile. As he became aware of it and his still staring gaze he quickly stopped both. He let himself fall on the bed again, thinking.  
He glanced over to John once more who was writing again.

As his friend felt Sherlocks stare he looked down on him, smiling at him with a hint of a question in his eyes. Sherlock smiled back one of his rare, genuine smiles he saved for John. He saved a lot for John. John had been his exeption since the day they met. That had been the reason for Sherlock to take the leap. And his reason to come back. And his reason to change.  
Since when, only when you called my name, did I feel my name sounded different?  
As long a I can see you smile, no matter how many times I have to repeat, I will still do it.  
Since when did I start to have such a stupid thought?  
When did it start?  
I have fallen so deeply with you.

Sherlock glanced over to John again, to see of he was aware of the epiphany Sherlock just had. But nothing. John wrote in peace and Sherlock couldn't help himself but stared at him. What was so special about him? What was it that made him so important?

John found Sherlock staring at him - again.  
It wasn't an uncomfortable stare. It felt more like a study. John smiled at his friend and he, he blushed? Sherlock didn't blush. Never ever. But there it was. A light pink shadow on his cheeks.  
Taking this and Sherlocks behaviour lately, it was rather strange. If John didn't knew better, he'd assume that his best friend was in love with him. But that was impossible, wasn't it? 'Emotions are a defect, found on the losing side.' John remembered the words clearly. Mycroft had told him that they were Sherlocks'. In a line with 'married to my work'. But -and John wanted to believe all the 'buts' for his own sake and hope - hadn't his own feelings changed as well? From not gay to not a couple to his own thoughts of him and Sherlock together. And wasn't it possible that the detectives feelings could have changed as well?

Should John make a move? He knew it was a shot in the dark to confess to Sherlock but given his changed behaviour it was possible to not frighten his friend off, to keep at least the friendship alive and maybe - hope had grown in John's chest - his feelings were reciprocated. But before he could say something Sherlock disturbed his thoughts.

"John, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to expose you to this.. 'hotel'.. And I'm sorry I haven't taken care of a place to stay in the first place." John looked over to his friend who lay on the bed in the same way he often lay on the couch at home, fingers stapled together under his chin, gaze to the ceiling. He wasn't looking at John. But John smiled never the less a bright smile. This words really made him happy and send butterlies to his stomach.  
"As long as I'm with you, there's no place I'd rather be," John stated gentle. He observed Sherlock after his words, looking for a reaction. And there it was. Sherlock stiffened and looked over to John uncomprehending.  
"What do you mean with that?" Sherlocks voice was curious and was there a hint of disbelief? His eyes pierced Johns.

The doctor took a deep breath, thinking how he could enlighten Sherlock.

"Well, it's easy beeing with you. I never thought I would say this to _you_, who used to do drugs and who keeps playing his bloody violin in the middle of the night and who does experiments with bodyparts next to the ham I have for breakfast. But it's like that. It feels like home. And after you'd been gone, I realised how much I missed you and everything you do. And you know, I can be myself when I'm with you just as much you can be yourself when you're with me. I know, you like to think you're the only one wearing a mask in public, but you aren't.  
And I know that when you sleep you have nightmares sometimes. And I whish I could scare them away so you can sleep save and sound.  
And I can't help but fall for your eyes. And I've tried so hard everyday trying to find someone like you after you've been away. I would have waited forever and I should have known that this was impossible, but you weren't there to tell me of my stupidy. And I've been so alone and lost without you.  
And all I want to say is, that I feel complete with you and as long as we're together I will feel this way and be eternally grateful that you came back.  
As long as you are with me my heart continues to beat." The words came slowly at first but then the words just kept coming, having had to wait too long to be released finally.  
John wasn't able to look at the detective so he fixed his gaze on the wall just above his head.

Sherlock said nothing. For the first time he was lost for words. His mind needed awfully long to handle the meaning of these words. He wasn't into subtext or sentiment but Sherlock was almost sure what they meant.  
Still, his mind seemed unable to proceed. He stared for several minutes into nothing with glassy eyes. John began to feel uneasy and risked to take a look at his friend.  
"Sherlock? You.. okay? I'm sorry, if I said something wrong...", his concerned voice trailed off. Sherlock still stared.  
"God, I've broken him," John whispered to himself after five more minutes, discomfiture on his side, no movements on Sherlocks side.  
"Hey, Sherlock. Mate. What's wrong? This is giving me creeps. Stop it, will you?" the doctor rose from his chair to walk over to the bed Sherlock lay on and softly touched his shoulder.

The detective jerked out off his whatever and looked at John with wide eyes as if seeing him for the first time for real.  
"John, do you love me?" Sherlocks question took the addressed by surprise, causing him to blush. He looked at Sherlocks eyes, seeing nothing but honest curiosity and a hint of... fear?

"Well, ehm.." Deep breath. "Yes, Sherlock. I do love you," John answered finally, feeling horribly exposed and vulnerable.

"But all your previous exclamations about us not being a couple and you not being gay stated something different. So, for how long do you feel like this?," Sherlock enquired.

It was on John to stare. 'No rejection or affirmation. Just this questioning? Is he serious? Is he kidding? But stop, don't get angry. It's Sherlock. So, calm down. He's probably never delt with this before', John thought thought and answered: "I wanted to keep up appearances. I didn't want to strain our friendship feelings. And well.. how long? I don't know. Maybe since you are back? It's not like I can tell you a date and time, it just happened I think."

"Hmmm", Sherlock answered simply still staring up to the ceiling.

"What? That's all? Sherlock! What about you? How do you feel now? What do you feel about us?" John asked almost incredulous.

"Oh, I guess I owe you an answer, right? I don't know what to make of my feelings, to be honest. I care about you, deeply. And I feel happy whenever I see you smile and I feel kind of sad when you're not with me, that are the things I know for sure because I felt them for so long now and I was able to investigate these feelings and I saw the pattern. And like you said, it's easy to be with you and I don't think it's just because I'm used to your presence by now. I'm content when you're around. And those years of absence where harder than any cold turkey I've ever lived through..", Sherlocks voice ebbed away and he spoke more to himself now than to John.  
"And there were times during my journey when I was close to death... But I managed to stay alive. Because of you. I saw your face. And I remembered that I was doing it for you. You needed to be safe. Of what use would my death be, if it couldn't ensure your safety? So I simply had to stay alive. And I did. And finally I was able to return to you. And I felt incredibly happy and relieved that you were okay and you even forgave me and that was more than I dared to hope considering the anger you felt towards me. And I will be forever grateful that you did forgave me," Sherlock finished. While he spoke, John had kneeled on the bed, next to where Sherlock was still lying, his front directing at Sherlocks face.  
"And I think I will stop this now," Sherlock continued. "Since I'm not the expert when it comes to sentiment, what is your opinion, doctor? What's the diagnosis?" He looked up at his flatmate expectantly only to see John smile. He leaned over to Sherlock, placing his two hands on the pillow next to Sherlock's head and bent down.

"You tell me," John whispered, his lips only inches from Sherlocks, eyes locked with his, only hearing his blood pounding in his ears, only feeling his heart hammering against his ribcage as if it was trying to meet his match in the ribcage next to him. Johns lips overcame the distance, finally meeting Sherlocks. His heart skipped a beat at the sensation of these full, soft lips. The kiss was chaste and steady, moving lips against moving lips but the intensity of this intimate moment meant the world to both of them.

Lips meeting in love are sealing an end and a new beginning.

"I love you".

* * *

So, that's it.

If anyone bothers to be interested in the 'case' who started it all: As John had assumed, it was nonsense. The doing of some villagers who wanted to revive the poor tourism of Castletown. So they made up the story and convinced the famous Sherlock Holmes to take a look. The plan was to make a couple of photos of Sherlocks investigation and some posed photos of disappearing people to mystify the castle.  
But Sherlock figured it out the next morning, mainly because of the old man who owned the hotel and who happend to be the wirepuller behind everything. Well, I'm not Sherlock, so I can't explain who he did it.. and.. maybe -most likely- you wouldn't understand neither. ;) (That's what Sherlock would say, hm?)


End file.
